


Three, Two, One More Time

by Baneberry



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: BDSM, Flogging, Leashes, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4821506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baneberry/pseuds/Baneberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Froid and Rung work out more frustrations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three, Two, One More Time

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for robo-hunter-chaim, and is based solely on [this drawing by Chaim](http://robo-hunter-chaim.tumblr.com/post/128894302241/domrung-was-very-clear-about-no-touching-for). Yes, this is consensual BDSM. Not the most healthiest, however. But these two aren't exactly in the healthiest relationship.
> 
> Title shamelessly inspired by lyrics from [Vegas Lights](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aIs7QtCsUAg), mostly because I was listening to it on loop while writing this.

Ten minutes. Froid had made it ten minutes.

Shameful, considering his best record was almost twenty.

But when Froid watched Rung suddenly come to a stop, sitting upon his chest, one hand holding the end of the leash curled around his fingers, and glanced down slowly at the shaky hand gripping his arm... Rung's expression was almost indescribable, and yet a perfect blend of cold detachment and disgust. There was mild surprise beneath the layers of disappointment.

Froid hadn't realized what he'd done until it was too late. _Scrap_ , he growled to himself. "I..." he vented, a small wheeze, and slowly unfurled his shaky fingers.

Rung turned his head ever so slowly and quaintly and now that intense ruthless glower was on him. Froid swallowed; he felt crushed under that gaze. Half-lidded optics, slightly knitted browplates, the curl of his lips in his stoic frown. If he'd been wearing his glasses, this look would have been much less intimidating. More like a goldfish glaring at you.

"What did I say?" Rung asked, his voice quiet and controlled, much like the sudden taut atmosphere and dim lights in the room.

Froid winced. "No touching." The mistake was sinking in more and more. And yet despite the uneasiness, there was a warm thrill tickling up his backstrut.

Rung abruptly yanked at the leash, forcing Froid to sit up. Froid grunted, his neck snapping forward with whiplash; he used his elbows for support. Rung kept a firm tug on the leash, the leather biting into sensitive throat cables. "And what did you do?" Rung asked over Froid's painful hitch of air.

Froid tried to ignore the pinching on his fuel lines. "T-Touched you," he sputtered.

Rung looked Froid over with those frigid optics before suddenly rising off the larger mech's chest. He started across the room, pulling on the leash. Froid obediently flipped over onto hands and knees, following. Rung gave the leash a fierce tug, and Froid nearly fell over, scrambling to catch his balance and keep up.

"Against the wall," Rung ordered, pointing at aforementioned wall. He loosened his grip on the leash.

Froid invented and crawled, belly low to the ground, over to the wall. He looked much like a bat--made to fly, but forced to walk, long, pointed limbs moved with an almost sinister grace, forced to bend and contort. Froid turned, sitting and pressing his back to the wall.

"Hands at your sides."

Froid made sure they'd stay there this time. His optics flicked down at his erect unit, back up to Rung. The smaller mech crossed the room again, disappearing in the shadows. When he re-emerged, there was something in his hands.

Froid instantly recognized it as a riding crop. He invented sharply, sitting straight up against the wall. His unit twitched, channel walls clenching. He knew where this was going.

"For punishment," Rung said, weighing the whip in his nimble hands, "ten lashes."

Froid swallowed. "Yes, sir."

Rung nodded curtly. "Count along," he ordered, "if you lose place, we start over."

"Y-Yes."

Rung wasted no more time; he lashed the crop along Froid's unit.

"O-One!" Froid sobbed, hips bucking.

Rung struck him on the unit again. "Two!" One hard lashing to his engorged channel folds. "Tha-three!" Another swift smack to his channel, hitting the ceiling node. Froid yelped, "F-Four!"

Rung got in three more lashes to Froid's unit before noticing his thighs quiver, inching closed. He caught the glimmer in Froid's pale optics, and-- "I didn't say you could overload, did I?" Rung growled, slamming the edge of his boot against Froid's unit, crushing it against the flier's abdomen.

Froid whimpered. "N-No, sir!"

"Five more lashes," Rung said, this time striking Froid's left inner thigh. The leg flew back, plating flaring from the pain. He brought the crop down again--and again, this time the pace increasing. Froid's responses were slowing now; he was having a hard time concentrating, focusing. The warmth in his groin had become an almost unbearable heat, but he knew if he were to overload through his channel...

"How many was that?"

"I... I..."

"How many?"

Froid chewed his bottom lip. "I... I don't..." His optics opened weakly.

Rung stood back, keeping his foot pressed down on Froid's unit. "Very well," he said, "start over." The first lash left behind a purple streak against the folds of his channel.

"One!" Froid cried, sitting forward. His fingers dug into the ground, scratching desperately. His unit ached, his channel stung. His spark twisted with pleasure. He almost lost count again at four--Rung had returned to that fast pace. He whipped his thighs, his channel, his chest, and Froid heaved, engine revving loudly.

"How many?"

"P-Please..."

"How many, Froid?"

"P-Please just--"

"I'm waiting."

"E-Eight! Eight!" Froid choked. " _P-Please_!"

Rung frowned. With an elegant twist of his wrist, he lashed Froid's channel twice more before stopping. "You may overload," he said, removing his boot.

Froid fell forward with a loud gasp, long arms stretched across the floor as he overloaded from both channel and unit. He climaxed in spasms, some painful; little cramps started to relax in his tanks. His head felt light and yet heavy at the same time, and he might have just collapsed then and there after the harsh overload finally washed out of his system.

Rung picked up his glasses and a cloth. He knelt before Froid, gently touching his shoulder. Froid looked up just as Rung slipped the glasses back on. "Are you alright?" Rung asked, offering him a cloth. He touched the lash across Froid's chest.

"M'fine," Froid grumbled. He weakly wiped the transfluid from his unit, between his legs.

"Come on," Rung said, "you need to lie down."

Froid allowed himself to be pulled up, carefully led to the nearby settee. Rung stretched him out on his back, and as usual--a series of questions about the experience, if he was okay mentally and physically, while he cleaned up Froid for him.

Froid grumbled. "Session's over." He pressed the vocodor back between his lips, the straps automatically tightening and locking into place. And though he sounded unimpressed, Rung smiled, knowing the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> No, but seriously, have you ever seen bats crawl? It is [absolutely fucking adorable](https://www.google.com/search?q=bat+crawling&biw=1280&bih=933&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0CAYQ_AUoAWoVChMIy7-hr9L_xwIVVxqSCh1GdAp4). Menacing and adorable and ridiculous, golly. Bless Froid's freaky long arms.


End file.
